New Horizons

Welcome to my entry for the Vocal's "Overboard" challenge. This story is fiction. Be mindful my friends, for what is on the horizon is not always better than the sunset at your feet. ~ ROCK~

Mohamed to Fatima

Life will be better for us now, your belly is rounding with our child, praise be to God, our apartment is full of carpets, the smell of our homeland's cooking and I have a driver's license now. You smell of roses, my wife. I am so proud of you. Wipe your tears for your brother is soon to join us and you will no longer be alone when I begin my work as a night chauffer.

Fatima to Mohamed

I will be grateful, strive not to think of unsettling memories and fill our new life with warmth, the strength of the wisdom passed from our mothers to me; I will be dutiful, I want to be so my beloved husband. Praise be to God.

~

And so, the young couple began their life once again, at twenty-four and twenty-six, in this new land called Sweden. It was full of opportunity, work, healthcare and hope for their child on the way. Their parents had bid them success, were proud of their choice which relaxed their hearts from guilt. Soon, Fatima's brother of only eighteen years would join them and become her chaperone to the market, her guardian through the streets covered in icy slush and he, too, could learn the language as had Mohamed, prepare for his own education and help with the family's new lifestyle.

Spring came slowly and the sun was brilliant; Fatima could feel the baby was a boy. The kicks were strong as the sunlight through the window, her face warm, her cheeks full of color and joy. Today her baby brother would arrive from Nedroma, the town her ancestors hailed from and he would shower her with gifts for the nephew she was soon to birth.

She chopped blessed lamb into small bits using what many would consider a small, well sharpened sword; whole peppers she slowly baked in the electric oven which she still found inadequate, always preferring fire for roasting. With her delicate fingers she diced garlic, then spread fresh cumin seeds, coriander leaves and flakes of salt over the stew she was preparing. She stirred the pot and sat down to watch the steam absorb into the disturbing buzz of this new, obtrusive, sound, a fan. Her feet were swollen and her eyes tired. She turned the monstrous appliance off, removed the peppers from the oven and made her way to bed. It would be a joy to wake to her brother, Khaled's voice.

Khaled to Fatima

Khaled sat by her side, tears and smiles broke through her dream state and she felt his hand wrapped around her own. He knelt by her side and their eyes met with an understanding as warm as the desert stones.

My sister, I am here for you now! Take away your tears for I shall make you proud. Soon I am to be an Uncle? You have recreated the aroma of our Mother's kitchen, my stomach is hungry for your cooking just like father's always was at sunset. Shall we eat? I have a few presents for you! Come, Fatima! Let us celebrate!

Fatima served cous-cous and her husband insisted on lifting the lamb stew to the humble table. All was quite simple yet still exotic in their eyes. On the kitchen wall was both a calendar in Swedish delivered by the Lutheran church to newcomers and another in Arabic that marked all of their unique holy days. Fatima had never thought to hang more, for a kitchen was to be useful, not ornamental. The two young men ate jubilantly, laughing, talking late, in fact so late that Fatima once again retired to her bed before any presents could be opened.

Morning prayers said, the three sat happily in the kitchen again. Fatima served strong, syrupy coffee and left sugar bits in a small, yellow, ceramic bowl before them. The men talked in their familiar dialect and Fatima felt soothed, serene even, as she warmed blessed butter and fresh bread. She cut oranges into slices and sprinkled them with cinnamon, opened a new box of dates and began to serve her family. Just the word family made her heart beat faster. Then, as the young men filled their mouths with the food she prepared, droplets of blood ran down her leg. She began to feel hot and soon she was being carried to the bed with chaos only to follow.

Mohamed followed the ambulance to the hospital's emergency room. Fatima was given a sedative and the Doctor's spoke hurriedly to him in his new language. Did he understand? He nodded yes, I understand. I understand. And he wept.

~

Time passed slowly as Mohamed prayed with his brother in-law hourly for the safe delivery of his son. Fatima would soon bring their babe to his arms. All would be good again. He must work the same night and Khaled was trusted to stay near his sister's side and phone him of any changes.

Soon Fatima began to moan in a way that frightened Khaled, his tears were flushing like salty waves from his tired, brown eyes. A nurse led him to a waiting room and gave him coffee; she spoke in Swedish, then English and he understood "Okay". He sat sipping his coffee, repeating okay.

Fatima was taken to surgery where she had an emergency caesarean section; a baby girl was born. In her twilight effect from the strong medication she called out to her daughter, Amina. Thus Amina was named.

The nurse returned to the waiting room and announced to Khaled that his sister was "Okay". She said it was "Okay" to see her and she escorted him to Fatima's room.

Fatima to Khaled

My brother, I am grateful you are by my side. I have given birth to your niece, Amina. Have you called Mohamed? A machine began to make a loud sound and nurses rushed in and pushed him aside. They forced him into the hallway, white coated personnel whisked passed him and Khaled tried to call his sister's husband. What was happening?

~

Within twenty-four hours her body was washed, wrapped and blessed. Mohamed held his daughter in his arms shivering on that cold, wet, April afternoon. Khaled was inconsolable as the two men watched in shock as Fatima's body was turned over to God.

~

Mohamed took to smoking again, a habit he had quit for Fatima, for fatherhood. Khaled had called for his mother to come, to help them with the baby but it would take time, so much paperwork. The dutiful Uncle fed Amina during his own mourning the bottled supplements from the nurses that continued to visit, but he never was certain Amina had a full stomach. He wanted to go back to Nedroma, to wish this all away. This was not the life he wanted. Now his brother in-law walked miles a day around the lake across from their apartment building smoking and crying. He was not well. Nurses came and went reassuring Khaled he was capable, doing a good job and although he didn't understand all the words they spoke, he understood their eyes. Blue as the moonlight on the Mediterranean Sea, blue as the lake across the street where the icy waters soothed his view.

~

Mohamed had not been home for two nights; Khaled in his grieving and ambition to care for his sister's babe lost track of all time. A knock at the door came earlier than the usual nurses visit. It was two men dressed in blue and yellow. They were pale and behind then stood an older man with skin like his own. The two men spoke. Then the older man moved forward and in Arabic said, "May we come in? We are with the police?" Khaled wanted no trouble and shook his head yes. Amina was sleeping so he kept his voice low.

The older man asked him to sit; Khaled did so. The pale faced med stared at him with sorrow, the same he had seen in the hospital when Amina died. Khaled's eyes widened, what could it be now? I am a good man, I don't want more sorrow, he thought.

Older Man to Khaled

Your brother-in-law was not a good swimmer. He took a boat from the shore, umm, not his own of course, and he rowed out alone. Umm, your brother-in-law seemed to have slipped, gone overboard. The water is cold you see. I, umm, the police that is, are saying he has drowned. I am sorry to share this news with you. The police have stated that if you wish him to be buried you must sign some papers. They are investigating the situation of course. Sir. Again, umm, we will come back in a few hours with a team of translators, more precise information and would you like someone from the Church, eh, Mosque? ~

The men left. Khaled warmed Amina's bottle and picked her up from her cradle. Her eyes were sleepy and she fed well. He laid her upon his chest as he rested his head on his sister Fatima's pillow. It smelled of roses.